


gold teeth, grey goose

by orphan_account



Series: Modern AU; Cecil/Carlos [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Desert Bluffs, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The world is ending, somewhere, for someone. And it might not be your world, but it most definitely is theirs,”</p><p>High School!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gold teeth, grey goose

.

“Good morning, Night Vale!” Cecil croons over their intercom, resonating through classrooms. A collective groan passes through all the staff, rolling their eyes and shuffling test papers as the eleventh grade boy continues speaking.

The children, however, sit enraptured, squinting and furrowing their brows. If only they concentrated that much in class.

“It’s a bright and beautiful Friday, Night Valians, which means we’re all gearing up for the big football game this weekend, playing the crime against humanity that is Desert Bluffs,”

Carlos hides his smile behind his hand, pushing up his glasses. Maria snorts, flipping through her textbook and copying down her homework.

She’s known about his crush for weeks now, but is kind enough to keep the secret buried deep within the foundations of their friendship. He offers a smile, crooked and pink, and she twists her mouth back in a friendly formation, drawing a neon pink heart on his worksheet. _C + C_ she writes, piercing the heart with a sharper than usual pink arrow. He blushes, matching the highlighter drawing, and covers the markings with his hand.

Carlos realizes he’s tuned out most of Cecil’s show, only catching “And now, the weather,” before a silly pop song plays for a minute. The show ends, to Carlos’ dismay, with a few parting words from Cecil.

“The world is ending, somewhere, for someone. And it might not be your world, but it most definitely is theirs,”

.

Life goes on, Carlos slaves over assignments his group members aren’t bothered to do, Mr. McGinnis sends him sympathetic pats on the back when he comes in, glasses askew and limbs burning.

Maria wants to fight everyone who hurts Carlos, but they fight back, and they always win.

.

Another day, another strange broadcast from Cecil, and this time Carlos hears it echoing in the toilets, high above the urinals. Cecil never stutters, never trips and breaks his teeth and cuts his tongue on words, never falters. He is unmistakably himself, proud as he drifts through the hallways.

Carlos feels the desire inside, welling up and clotting in his heart. Bright cherry blood trickles down his neck, rivulets of warmth and defeat. It reminds him of his humanity, the hot blood and the bruises that bloom like inverted colour flowers.

Carlos is human, and a weak one at best.

.

Perhaps an explanation is required, a rewind from the sluggish blood to the quick rabbit pulse of his heartbeat. Carlos finds himself in a corner, a second home by now, innocently studying for a test he knows he will pass.

Kevin finds him, the quarterback of Desert Bluffs, all sharp teeth and vicious hair. It spikes and snarls from its perch on Kevin's head, dark and angry, opposite of the placid smile on his lips.

"Hello," he says, sweet and calm, sounding like he should announce the birth of a panda or something at the Night Vale zoo.

Carlos gropes the brick wall, hoping to pull out Maria or a club or a time-space continuum that will get him the hell out of here. He finds nothing in the disappointing rough of the rusty bricks. Kevin is not alone, flanked by beefy boys with lemon hair and eyes that resemble melting grass. Their teeth are dull, soft like their brains, and easily follow Kevin's commands.

The boys circle him, tall and proud around their leader who is currently observing the floor on crouched legs.

"This school," he starts, swiping a thin pinky at the smooth linoleum. "It's so.... bloodless,"

His posse snickers stupidly.Carlos would laugh at them if he wasn't so scared.

"We should change that, huh boys?" A demand, never a question, and fulfilled it will be.

They grab Carlos by his collar, almost comical as he is lifted a foot above the ground. Carlos doesn't find it funnny, useless breath going out his lungs as he chokes.

"You're mincemeat, _muchacho_ ," a foul breath snarls in his ear, and they all snicker, throwing out slurs like Frisbee.

Carlos is the tired dog, he can't catch them, he can't fling them back. He can only watch as his body is battered, a punch here, and kick there, until his insides coat the wall and Kevin kneels over him with a soft expression. A long finger lifts his chin and Kevin swipes the blood sticking near his mouth. Soft lips surround the twig like finger, and streaks of red remain on the ridges of his fingerprints.

"A kiss for good luck," Kevin winks, behind him his team mates looking at each other, perplexed and disturbed.

They leave him there, following the sharp hair faithfully, and Carlos waits for air to enter his lungs. It doesn't ask permission, only swooshes in and expands his chest painfully. He doesn't rise until Mr. McGinnis finds him slumped outside the bathroom, teetering on the edge of consciousness. It's irritating, the want to sleep interrupted countless times by his teacher, shaking him and talking.

The lights are yellow and they resemble helicopters, SWAT teams doing their best to take him under.

.

More time passes, and his limbs heal and his mother worries, and the bruises lingering near his ribs only fuel Maria's lust for revenge. In some ways, she reminds him of Kevin, calculating revenge as fast as quadratic equations. Cecil continues his broadcast, sometimes waving to him in the hall, always with the sweater vests and combed hair, followed by groups of giggling girls who find him dreamy and deep and mysterious. They are humoured, but never led on, for which Carlos feels grateful, even though he knows he has less of a chance than anyone.

.

Valentine's Day rolls around, and suddenly Maria is swept away with decorations and dances at dates with Devon. Devon is sweet, uninformed but kind about Carlos' (predicament? situation?) sexuality, offering him a seat between two enormous shoulder pads. Carlos refuses, he knows the angry glares will only intensify if he sits, and walks to his favourite corner.

Desert Bluffs won, and the team was too busy shoveling burgers and carbonated drinks down their throats to bother gloating to Night Vale. They wear their uniforms like a prize, and Night Valians wear theirs as armor. They're under scrutiny, but it's never harsh enough to penetrate the soft polyester.

Cecil is decked out in a bright, obnoxiously red sweater, talking animatedly with a teacher. A lunch tray wobbles in his hand until the conversation is done. He walks in Carlos' general direction, and Carlos watches with the same detached interest everyone else does. It's not until Cecil places his tray on his table, _Carlos' table_ , that he starts to panic.

"Cecil?"

"That's me,"

"What- why- I mean, why are you sitting here?" Cecil shrugs, and his hair brushes his collar. It needs a cut.

"I wanted to," A soft smile, and it is nothing like Kevin, it is genuine and warm and Carlos forgets his words. He finds them when Cecil is mid-bite, tripping them out.

"You want to sit with _me_?" It's incredulous and incredibly telling of his low self-esteem.

"Yes, Carlos. I thought we already established that," Cecil sniffs, oblivious of everyone's eyes on him and Carlos.

A misshapen dollop of ranch is perched near the corner of his lips.

 _Carlos_ , Carlos thinks, suppressing a dreamy sigh. _He knows my name._

.

Surprisingly, but maybe not surprising to anyone, the incident at lunch is not a one-time thing. Nearly everyday Cecil sits with Carlos, talking and listening to him, or sitting quietly and finishing homework. He is even more handsome up close, with purple lips and parted hair and freckles dotting his nose. Carlos tries not to stare, but fails miserably when Cecil stares back, unaffected by the intimacy of their gazes.

It continues into the hot desert summer, carried through the blessed winds and sand dunes. Cecil sings him songs from his _Ute_ culture, of blinding suns and buffalos and a world hidden from the shiny Night Vale mall.

"We didn't even have clocks back there," he says, pointing to the sky. He is spread eagled on the picnic blanket, legs askew.

"The Sun told us everything," Carlos believes him, tells Cecil stories he only half-remembers, of bright dresses and dancing with Maria and not being afraid of bleached white skulls. Cecil listens, and Cecil talks, and Carlos thinks of butterflies in the desert.

.

Cecil kisses him in the car one day, mouth sweet with honey mustard, and Carlos says he is in love. The repercussions of his confession would be too hard to handle, but Cecil only whispers it back on his skin, bare under the upholstery of the '89 Camry.

His body aches and burns, twisting onto Cecil as he is fucked, slick with sweat as he tries to hold on to anything. This time, it's fine when his hands come empty, as Cecil twines their fingers together and pushes forwards. Anyone could see, but they don't, the only witnesses are the lights illuminating their bodies, dancing above the Arby's.

Soft gasps are pulled from his lungs, Cecil's eyes burn and his breath comes out in animal pants. Cecil pulls at the skin, encourages his blood to flow and heat both their bodies. When they come, out of time and off beat, Carlos kisses Cecil's bruised lips and lets the sweet ache in his chest build.

"I love you," Cecil says, honest and trusting.

"I love you back," Carlos whispers, to the freckles on Cecil's shoulders, to his burning eyes and bony hips.

.

Twelfth grade starts too soon, but the promise of escape fuels him. Bullies seem to back off, at least physically, repelled by the kindness of Cecil. They are still together, and even Maria begrudgingly accepts Cecil into their peer group.

Universities pour forth, like untapped springs, all offering scenic campuses and excellent education. A seminar is held after school, and Carlos attends, drunk on the feeling of a new life. Cecil, too, contemplates post-secondary.

"North Western, I'm thinking. Something in journalism," Sheltered in the air-conditioned kitchen of Carlos' home, the words feel like cool breeze.

"All the way up in Illinois?"

"Yeah," Carlos can't judge, having already mailed applications to CalTech and the university in Tucson. They lick envelopes together, and comfortable silence fills the kitchen, along with the whir of the air conditioner.

.

Tucson accepts, mailing a pristine white letter in January. The Dean himself commends him, and Carlos vaguely remembers a mustache and a man, black suit arms around his shoulder as he wins a first place prize in the science fair. _We are delighted to inform you, Carlos Moreno, have been accepted into the University of Arizona with Dean Andrew's commendation._

The letter shakes in his hand, and Carlos barges through Cecil's room, waving it wildly in his face. "Oh Carlos," Cecil says, cradling his head and kissing him sound. "I'm so proud of you,"

His mother is next, smiling through her tears. Maria makes plans for them to meet, long trips between Phoenix and Tucson, text plans and gasoline prices. Their smiles threaten to break their faces.

.

Perhaps if they were "normal" couples, the distance between might have been a threat. Perhaps if Carlos did not fall in love on a lunch table and Cecil had not sung about the Sun, and perhaps if Kevin did not exist and Night Vale died before anyone was born, things would be different.

But now, Skyping with Cecil, who does not believe noodles can be made instantly, laughing and singing _Ute_ songs to the best of his ability, Carlos does not think of the variables of his life.

 _C+C_ isn't an equation, he thinks, it is nothing but another answer that pertains to no one but them.

And Carlos is fine with that.

.

**Author's Note:**

> A little different from my multi-chaptered fic, I figured some fluff was in order. Also, if my understandings of the Ute or Hispanic culture are wrong or offensive, please notify me. 
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is highly appreciated. 
> 
> Also I wrote porn. Tell me the good, the bad, and the stereotypically ugly.


End file.
